senses
by luchino
Summary: "so, amu... what do you think? can you hear me?" — amuto oneshots.
1. Sight

_a/n: lol rewritten hoers_

—

oo1. sight

The sun is beating on his back and his mind vaguely registers the warmth of summer that threatens to suffocate him, but Tsukiyomi Ikuto is too occupied to notice this. He is on a mission—an important, important, _important_ (he cannot stress _important_ enough) mission that could cost him his life.

So he decides to call it Operation: Escape Batshit Crazy Sister. Or Operation: Get Through This Damn Crowd I Mean It's Like 90 Fucking Degrees Why Are These Insane People Outside. (He's still trying to decide.)

"Ikuto! Ikuto! Where _are _you?" The annoying, sugar-sweet voice of his sister comes from somewhere behind him. And then the screaming—always the screaming. Hoshina Utau! Oh my God, Hoshina Utau sing that song you know that one that goes open your shining eyes in the—shut _up._

(Shit, son, better run.)

He forces himself to walk, convinces himself that pushing everyone down is _bad_ and will only draw attention to himself and make it easier for Utau to rape him or something. (But mostly because of the second reason.)

Ikuto ducks into a cafe—a pink, frilly place filled to the brim with those stereotypical wannabe-shoujo-manga-heroine chicks with their ordinary, not-badass-like-him boyfriends. And they talk and talk and talk, and Ikuto thinks that the sound of a hundred bees piercing his ears right here, right now might be worse than the commotion outside.

He takes a seat at the furthest possible table from the crowd, from the annoying chicks, from Utau, from _everyone._ So he's a little surprised when this (hot) irritated pink-haired girl stands in front of him, one hand parked on her waist and the other gripping a magenta notepad. The pages have frilly designs on them, and, judging by her facial expressions and the fact that the bright paper is wrinkled and torn, this girl is forced to work here for some bizarre reason.

(Not that he even cares.)

His eyes scan the frilly, laminated menu and he orders something random. Something that doesn't sound completely gay. Five bucks says this sandwich whatever tastes like his cat's shit.

The (hot, hot, _hot_) totally not hot waitress walks away and Ikuto keeps his eyes on her (ass), managing to block out the sounds of the bees tittering away everywhere else in this godforsaken café.

(She _is_ kind of sort of really hot.)


	2. Scent

Everything about Amu was perfect in my eyes—it still is, mind you. The way she blushed when I teased her, her creamy skin, her childish face, every little thing should ever do since the moment we met… Don't even forget about her scent. That alluring scent alone was enough to drive me mad. Sweet, like strawberries. I liked that about her.

Scratch that last sentence. I liked—no, _loved_ everything about her. I still do love her, even though she'sgone from this world now.

—

I trudge up the hill just like every single day after my world ended. The sun shines brightly high above me, mocking me with the sunny rays that seem to be purposely casted onto my back. I clutch a bouquet of flowers in my right hand, forcing my legs to keep moving even though I desperately want to stop. The top of the hill is decorated with flowers and it seems much too cheerful, but I know Amu would want it to be this way.

"I really miss you, you know? But I know that I'll join you eventually. Even if it kills me, I'll wait. Don't cheat on me with some angel," I joke. Dropping my voice to a whisper, I add in a sad, longing sort of voice, "I love you."

I crouch there in silence and stare at the sky, closing my eyes and remembering Amu. A gust of wind blows my way and for a second, I can smell her scent—that scent of innocence and naivety and beauty that she never knew she had. I breathe it in—in and out, in and out—until it's gone and there's nothing but the smell of the flowers and grass and air around me.

I open my eyes.

"Hey, Amu. Let me tell you about today."


	3. Touch

Whenever she smiles, I smile too, even though she can't see me.

Whenever she's angry, I calm her down, even though she can't feel my hand caressing her back.

Whenever she feels like her world is crashing down, I stroke her bubblegum pink hair and whisper reassuring words, even though she can't hear me.

The one downside of being an angel is her not being able to see me, hear me, feel me.

I love her, even though she's human. I feel a... connection with her.

Whenever I touch her arm, I feel a tingly sensation. Whenever I kiss her cheek, I feel electricity.

And from the bewildered look on her face, I know she feels it, too.


	4. Taste

"Ikuto, I made a cake!"

"...A cake? Are you sure the cat didn't just shit on you or something?"

"Ikuto! I don't even _have_ a cat."

"_I'm_ your cat."

"So you're saying you shat on me?"

"Is 'shat' even a word?"

"I don't know. Anyways, I made a cake. Come taste it! It's chocolate!"

"Fine, damn it."

"So...?" Amu asked.

"It's okay... I mean, it's good, but you taste _so_ much better."

"_I-Ikuto!"_


	5. Sound

"Hey, Amu," I say, sitting in the chair near the hospital bed. I don't expect a reply, but part of me is hoping.

Hoping that somehow, Amu will wake up, and things will return to normal.

"You know, Amu," I continue, pushing the thoughts of _normalness _from my head. "I once heard that if someone's in a coma, they can still hear people around them."

It's like I can hear Amu replying, "_What are you, stupid?"_ She'd laugh, and I'd join in. Then I'd do something pervy and she'd blush.

The scene in my head almost seems normal.

"So, Amu... what do you think? Can you hear me?"

The nurses and visitors that pass by our room peek inside. _They probably think I'm crazy,_ I think, _for talking to someone that can't even hear me._

I lean closer to Amu's body. She looks so fragile. Like I could break her just by touching her.

My mouth lingers by her ear. I know that if she were awake, she would turn as red as a tomato and move away. I smile slightly at the thought.

"Amu, can you hear me?" I whisper.

Amu doesn't move. She doesn't twitch, her eyelids don't flutter. But there's a feeling of hope inside of me, and I feel strangely happy.

My voice gets quieter as I whisper my last words, hoping that, somehow, she'll hear them.

"I love you, Amu."


End file.
